Failure.
As he opened his eyes, he didn't see a familiar ceiling with cracking plaster or a ceiling fan spinning sporadically above his head. He didn't hear a whole horde of idiots running about in the halls of his dorm. He didn't hear his alarm clock ring at eight sharp. He didn't hear a tv, cranked on such a low volume, as if it were a secret. Olympics being broadcasted so a certain someone could fawn. He didn't hear laughing or sneering. Didn't hear Jimmy and Petey getting into a spat.
He could almost see them under his eyelids, they were sitting on that worn out, grimy couch.
Smiling.
Scum.
He didn't revere them as friends.
Objects, more like.
Friends were for the weak that could not stand on their own.
Gary was above them. Figuratively and literally. He was there. He was standing on the scaffolding, looking down on the chaos.
Chaos that he created.
Chaos that he concocted from his mind.
But this wasn't Bullworth. This was worse. He saw grey walls, dust dancing in beams of light from the small barred windows that were simply too far out of reach.
He saw failure.
He saw flaws in a perfected plan.
When he moved, his joints popped and squeaked. He slowly fiddled with his hands and every so often bouncing in place.
Everything seemed so quiet. His voice weak and his throat sore from the night before. Screaming again, struggling like a fish gasping for air, pleading and yelling. Letting out teen angst. They made a mistake. He was head boy. Dr. Crabblesnitch really believed all that junk and Gary was untouchable then. His tongue was forked, soaked in honey. Able to soothe and lie but able to cut down in an instant.
And now…
Gary has reasoned that what happened at Bullworth wasn't that bad. It wasn't really a civil war… okay, it was. But he was so close to making Jimmy out to be the worst student, a bully even, to have ever attended! Becoming a king. A ruler. Instead he was dethroned and assassinated like Caligula.
He loved Rome.
It was hedonistic, sure. But the way Caligula brutalized his enemies and took control. If he could have, he would have. He would take the role as Caligula did. Pulling out their eyes, ripping out their tongue, or cutting off ears. And if Gary was feeling merciful, he'd bury some alive, impaling and, of course, crucifying degenerates.
He wished he had one of his many books with him. He remembered learning about Caesar and other rulers of Rome. It gave him an idolized purpose. They were geniuses. Just like Gary.
But Caligula died. Gary was alive
Here. Again.
More pills. More meds. More cycles of medication. More withdrawals. More time talking to the ringmaster of this goddamn circus. That doctor. He didn't know anything about him. He would sit there in that musty chair, and Gary would either lie or sit there, full of insubordination. Of course, why would Gary tell him any truth? It was more fun watching someone try to piece together an assortment of half truths and lies, only to fail at diagnosing him.
Even if he were to tell the truth, he was skeptical. He wasn't his first psychologist.
It made him feel superior.
But the more they both talked, the more it came back to his failings.
And it all comes back to Bullworth.
He hadn't even incited those animals against each other as much as he could of. All that planning. Notebooks full of ideas. Pages of scheming. Trying to figure out as much as he could. Dig up as much dirt as possible. Bribing. Threatening. Blackmailing. Befriending only to swiftly backstab.
He wanted that place to burn.
It deserved to.
Yet there he was. Happy Volts Asylum. Home for the mentally unwell.
But just like Caligula, Happy Volts was nursing a viper in it's bosom.
He could hear the faint noises of screams. Block B was a really great place. It had all the accommodations a violent psychopath would need. Including fluffy lined walls.
Gary sat there. Planning. Thinking about how he would exactly leave. He didn't like the small cups of pills. It made it hard to think. Too hard to think. Before when he would receive them in the rec room, he would fake taking them and sling them for information or favors.
Until someone ratted him out. Some good goodey doer.
Those sneaky bastards
And the way the orderlies would grab your cheeks and forcefully search your mouth. They would practically give an oral search to swallow just one pill. Gary had always debated clenching his teeth down on a prying hand and, like a feral animal, have blood bubble in his mouth like a geyser.
He smirked at the thought.
Even though he was somber and sedated, the thought of biting one of those orderlies sparked a little amusement.
He couldn't remember the last time he smiled.
Happy Volts it was…
It was too boring for him.
He hated that word.
Boring is what Jimmy had called him.
When Jimmy said that, he remembered clenching his fists, ready to kill.
Was he? Boring. Was he too sedated or was he losing his edge?
He missed the smells, voices and sounds of Bullworth. The sounds of screams, the smells of lit fires and the rumble of a school's crumbling social ladder.
Jimmy didn't understand that it took more than just brawn to run a school, but genius and intellect and he obviously didn't have that.
Gary had it.
Jimmy was ridiculous, offensive and demeaning.
With the sounds of keys and a groan from the door, an orderly stepped in. Unannounced, too. Gary, charming as ever spouted, "oh, great! Company. Come in friend! Are you going to zap the bad boy out of me? Am I ready for the famous Happy Volts electroshock therapy?"
The orderly didn't emote. Mostly because of the surgical mask in front of his face. They looked so sterile. So boring.
Scum.
"Hey, meathead. Did you get that? Or are you deaf?"
The orderly materialized a cup from behind his back. Gary nearly jumped out of his skin. If there was something that terrified Gary, it was those medicinal capsules of assorted colors.
"No thanks, I think I've ingested enough chemicals for one month." When the orderly didn't move, it frightened Gary even more, "you better hope they're suppositories because I'm not swallowing them numbnuts!"
One orderly became two as another emerged from the door.
Gary flailed, like a vampire fleeing from garlic on a braid. It was going to be one of those kind of doses.
Forcefully.
And like a predator pouncing on a wildebeest, clammy purple gloved hands found their way around his cheeks, forcing him to open wide. The muscle relaxers or whatever they gave him, the medication made his muscles feel like heavy weights, like heavy knuckles dragging on the ground.
The orderly that had refused to emote anything, clearly didn't appreciate Gary's brilliance. He carefully placed pills on his tongue, sliding them all the way to the back of his throat. As Gary pushed back on the man in front of him, he started to mutter and yell to get off of him. The orderly performing an act of disparity, tears were welling up in his eyes as he was unable to keep the orderlies fat finger from sliding down the crux of his throat.
And then. Somewhere in Gary. Deep, deep down, that flame lit again.
And it burned so bright.
Like a fucking sun.
He wasn't boring.
He wasn't just going to rot here.
He needed to go home. Home to Bullworth.
He grabbed the orderly behind him by the crotch and, simultaneously, he found the strength to bite down on the finger feeding him. The orderly finally had some emotion and the thrill of seeing a face contort into pain and the man scream in surprise. It gave Gary pleasure in undefined ways. He felt the glove rip from the finger. The taste of nitrile and iron burned his senses. His tongue lapped the blood from his sharp incisors.
And like a spitting cobra, Gary spewed the blood back at the man.
With quick senses, he spotted the door was more than just ajar. It was open. They didn't lock it behind them.
Their loss, his win.
And before he knew it, he was out in the hallway. A smile graced his lips as he busted through doors and ran through more and more hallways. Gallivanting. Finally making it to the rec room. And with a deep breath, pointing at all the crazies huddled around a tv - that turned back to look at Gary and his commotion.
He let out a satisfied yell.
"I win, losers! I WIN! I'm back! I'm going t-"
However, four orderlies cut the achievement short, including the orderly with blood and spit dripping from his surgical mask. They piled onto the sixteen year old, as if something had possessed Gary. And something did. The orderlies attempted to grab onto whatever they could. Hair, arms, legs.
Gary writhed in absolute glee.
Gary was unstoppable.
It wasn't a real go at breaking out
He had it.
The flame.
He wasn't getting boring.
This was just what he needed.
As the needle was injected into his arm, he welcomed the rush of warm fluid and the familiar haze.
The sensation was too much to scream, so instead he laughed and laughed.
Homecoming wouldn't be too far away.
His throne would be awaiting him.
He'd take it back by force
By fire and brimstone if he had to.
It couldn't be stopped.